


I'll Never Be You

by ind1go_ink



Series: From The Ground Up [1]
Category: Game Grumps, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Black Moon Crew, Coercion, Death Threats, Drugs, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, FAHC, FAHC Au, Fake AH Crew, Gen, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Coercion, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Self-Harm, Theyre not good reasons nor are they excuses but yeah, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, geoff is a bit of an abusive dick in this but he has his reasons kinda??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-07-29 07:03:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7674748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ind1go_ink/pseuds/ind1go_ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lindsay is an all round lady, is part of the LSPD, is an upstanding citizen. Everything Los Santos could want, and more. But she goes dark, finds a new life, a new girl. It's all a secret. One her girlfriend doesn't appreciate being a part of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take Me With You

**Author's Note:**

> A little AU I've ponced about in my mind for awhile. Nothing's concrete yet, aside from relationships. Let me know your thoughts in the comments!

It’s a hectic time in the precinct the night that Michael Jones stumbles through Lindsay’s door, a smirk with blood stained teeth catching her eye. She sighs, slams her third file down on an officer’s desk and waves them over to her office.

The officer behind him, hands clenched tight on the man’s arms, gives her a curt nod once they’re in the privacy of her office. The door’s shut tight, but Lindsay can feel the eyes of the cameras in her office on the back of her neck.

“Boss-” He begins, but she cuts him off, clenching her arms around the back of her office chair, jaw grinding as she eyes Michael.

“Arson, attempted mass manslaughter, illegal possession of dangerous weapons, needless endangerment of citizen’s lives.” She says flatly, crossing her fingers behind her back. The officer’s eyes widen before he sees the thick wad of files splayed across her desk. The black and white photograph on the top of the heap says it all. He nods, backs off and closes the door behind him when he leaves.

Lindsay’s shoulders immediately sag, her eyes looking more tired than Michael had ever seen her.

“You’re getting to be a real thorn in my side.” She mutters, rubbing a palm over her face.

“What?” He teases, ignoring the taste of metallic acid in his mouth. That cop had given him a whopper, hadn’t held back. He was sure there would be a swollen lip gracing his face by the end of the night. He admired that. “Not happy to see me, boo?”

“Not when you’re destroying my city.” Lindsay snarls, standing abruptly, slamming her palms down either side of his files. “We’ve got fucking _five_ files on you, all the size of a George R. R. Martin novel!”

Michael shrugs, handcuffs jangling when he sits down heavily in her favourite leather chair. He props his boot-clad feet up on her desk, dirt flakes shaking loose and floating to her desk. “So? We both know I’m never going back to a normal life, Linds.”

She stares at his feet, anger making her eye tick, but huffs a breath out.

“Where the fuck did you go so wrong, Michael?” She says, a hint of melancholy creeping into her voice. It was no question that she adored her best friend, would do anything to protect him - hence why he had files the size of Mt Everest and yet had never been jailed, but she couldn’t protect him from the life he led.

Which, admittedly, was rife with crime. He seemed to enjoy it, but Lindsay wanted more for him.

“Uh, would have been a year after we finished college, darling. When I met _Geoff_.” It’s nothing more than a hiss between teeth in the silence of the room but Lindsay wants to shrink back from the venom poisoning Michael’s features.

“Remember?” He says, spitting a globule of blood into her trashcan before standing. His handcuffs tinkle, and he holds them out in front of him, hands freed. “He was the man I’d always dreamed of. The one I used to tell you about in high school. All high class and expensive tastes.”

Lindsay remembers. The bright way Michael’s eyes would shine when he talked about Geoff, singing his lover’s praises, how he would go out to dinner with Geoff and come back at the crack of dawn, still high on whatever narcotic Geoff had fed him, rambling about how good Geoff treated him, how he was his princess. Michael was in _love_.

Then one day Michael’s eyes no longer shone when he spoke about Geoff, he no longer showed up at the crack of dawn glowing, he showed up with bruises littering his pale skin, tears dripping down punished cheeks.

“But you joined his crew.” Lindsay finds herself saying, lost in thought. “You joined his crew, and stayed with him.”

Michael chuckles, but there’s no mirth in it. “I want to see that fucker dead. Figured the only way I’d learn how to kill was to join his crew. You should have seen how pleased he was to have me. His own little toy to fuck, to have by his side forever. Big Boss won’t be pleased to see this little doozy on his precious boy’s face.” Michael’s lips curl into a snarl as he taps his swollen cheek. “He’ll be after your men, maybe after you.”

Lindsay flinches at the force of his words, let’s her eyes fall to the files on her desk. Michael strides forward, places his palms on her desk either side of her and leans forward, an exact mirror of her earlier position.

“I’m never going to stop.” He whispers in her ear. “Not till he’s dead in the ground. Then _maybe_ I’ll go back to a normal life. Maybe.”

She looks up into his eyes, sees the fire in his eyes, the anger that gathers at the corners of his mouth, coiled in the whiteness of his knuckles as he clenches her desk. She nods, straightens up, adjusts her collar.

“Michael. This is your last warning.” She swears, though this is his tenth last warning. He smirks, pushes himself back with an amused noise.  
“You always were good at playing the cop when we played cops and robbers as kids,” He says as he wanders to her door, turning only to throw the handcuffs on her desk. “When were you ever the robber?” He shoots her one last grin, dried blood caking his lower lip before disappearing through her door and out of her precinct.

~

It’s not two weeks later when Michael’s at her door again, only this time it’s her house, and he’s bleeding all over her living room carpet.

She only just manages to get his bandages on before erupting into a tirade of anger that lasts a good half an hour.

When she finally stops, face beet red, knuckles white, Michael lets out a gurgling laugh filled with blood.

“Lindsay, baby, I need the hospital.” He grunts out, shifting himself higher up on her couch so that he’s no longer slouching. Bandages cover his bare chest, his arms. Bruising contrasts his pale skin, some yellowed and fading, others as fresh as a new sunrise, deep purple and angry crimson. They trail downward past the cut of his jeans across his hips, and Lindsay’s sure that if she wanted to look she’d find bruises on his thighs too.

Lindsay huffs out a sigh, rubs at her arms as she folds them over her chest.

“You can’t keep letting him do this to you, Michael.” She says helplessly.

“Who, Geoff?” Michael bares his teeth in a grimace. “He only helped. It was the other guys we were trying to fight off.”

“Other guys?” Lindsay echoes.  
“Rival crew.” He wheezes. “I really need the hospital. Call a fuckin’ ambulance. _Now_.”

The tone in his voice leaves no room for argument. Lindsay nods, pulls her phone from her pocket and punches in the number. Her finger hovers over the dial button before she realises that no, she can’t call an ambulance, they’d ask questions, start an investigation. She would be under suspicion too. She pockets her phone, staring blankly at the floor, chewing on her lip.

“What are you doing?!” Michael hisses, holding in a pained groan as his hands cradle his torso.

She doesn’t respond, eyes her best friend before pulling her phone out again, punching in a new number and pressing the phone to her ear.

“Hey, you up?” She murmurs, turning away from Michael before he can see the flush cross her cheeks. A groggy voice answers her.

“I am now.” Muriel mutters, rubbing her eyes as she stares at her alarm clock. It’s two in the morning. “What do you need, Lindsay?”

Lindsay bites her lip, turns to Michael and appraises him. “I need a covert patch up for a friend of mine.”

Muriel sighs from the other end of the line. Lindsay can hear the exasperation in her voice as she speaks.  
“I’ll be there in ten.”

Muriel hangs up, and Lindsay lets out a small groan, shoulders sagging. No doubt she’d pissed off her one doctor friend who would help with any weird requests she had.

Michael sucked his teeth, making his presence aware. “You’re so fucking gay.” He jibes, despite the exhaustion in his voice, the shaky way he sits himself up.

“You are too.” Lindsay retorts.

Michael tsks, shakes his head. “At least I don’t get all giddy when one of my doctor friends lets herself get roped up into the shit I bring to you.”

“Well… At least I don’t let my partners beat the shit out of me, and use me as a body shield.” She snaps, clenching her fists. “You think I _like_ dealing with your shit, Michael?!”

He looks away from her, eyebrows furrowing for a moment before he raises his gaze to hers, eyes unforgiving. “You let this shit happen to me, you know that? You only help when I come to you, you never fucking protect me.” It’s a whisper but it strikes Lindsay right in her heart, her guard finally crumpling. It’s guilt trippy and horrible but Lindsay knows Michael is right. It snaps something inside of her, her jaw muscles roiling as she grinds her teeth.

“You want me to protect you?” She hisses. “That isn’t my job, Michael.”  
He lets out a stunted miserable chortle. “You’re a fucking _cop,_ Lindsay.” He says darkly. “That’s the whole premise of your damn job. But you can’t even help your best friend when he’s in the shit.”

A knock on the front door startles them both, Lindsay turning in place, eyes settling on the door with alarm. Michael’s hand goes to a gun holster strapped to his leg.  
“Does he know you’re here?” Lindsay whispers, still shaking from the wave of emotions crashing over her. To be so quickly shut down, to be so utterly transparent was a terrifying thought.

“Nah,” Michael’s voice feigns nonchalance, almost. She can hear the weariness, the slight tinge of fear in his voice.

“It must be Muriel.” She whispers to herself, moving to the front door. She peers out the peephole, and it is indeed Muriel, packed to the teeth with medical supplies. Lindsay breathes out a relieved sigh, glad to have someone else around, if only for the added barrier against further arguments.

“Hey.” She greets her friend, and Muriel only scowls in her direction before catching sight of Michael, and swearing.  
“What, you take in strays now, Lindsay?” Muriel hurries forward, dropping to her knees in front of Michael, appraising his wounds.

“He’s an old friend.” She mutters, leaning in the doorway between the hallway and the living room. Best to keep her distance for now.

“An old friend, with bullet wounds?” Muriel sounds disbelieving, but she gets to work immediately. “What do you do?” She asks Michael.

He grunts as she removes the makeshift bandages from his chest. “I work for a top tier crime gang.”

Muriel shoots him a skeptical look. “Are you hallucinating right now, dude?”

Michael laughs, shakes his head. “Unfortunately not.” He hums. “Haven’t you heard of the Black Moon Crew?”

Muriel jolts back faster than a cat from water. “Shit!” She swears, pressing herself to the wall of  the living room.

“What the fuck, Lindsay?!” She turns on the officer, eyes blazing. “You’re telling me to fix up a member of the most notorious gang this side of the Coast?!”

Lindsay shrugs, bites her lip. “I knew him before he joined up. He’s my best friend. He won’t hurt you.” She knows she can’t promise that about any of the other members.

“He’s a _criminal_!” Muriel hisses. Lindsay stares at Michael, can only see a broken shattered boy pretending to be a man, a shell of a boy she once knew and trusted with her life. She realises she still does.

“He’s a person, and so help me if you don’t patch him up, I’ll arrest you for fraternising with known criminals.” She threatens, prompting an amused noise from Michael, who stays quiet when she turns questioning eyes his way.


	2. Trapped By You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this mobile, also I fucked up the tense but I really can't be bothered changing it.

It hadn’t been hard for Lindsay to fall into the trap of protecting Michael from questioning gazes, especially from the authorities. Of course, that meant that Michael was further inclined to do more dangerous stunts - like crashing a helicopter into Los Santos’ police headquarters ‘for a dare’, he said. He was taking liberties with Lindsay’s loyalty, and Lindsay, forever true to her word, would take the fall for him, time and time again.

Her superiors never suspected a thing. As well as Lindsay’s meddling with case reports and tampering with evidence, Michael had Geoff’s arsenal of lawyers at his back, ready and all too willing to defend him against any slander for the mountain of money each were paid.

It was only a matter of time before Lindsay caught Geoff’s interest.

 

~

 

The night boomed overhead, rain that had been threatening the entire day with thick sagging clouds was finally making good on it’s promise. Rain fell heavy and hard all over Los Santos, drenching folks who hadn’t given a thought to the storm clouds clinging to the horizon, and battering people who  _ had  _ decided to bring an umbrella, who now had to struggle against roaring winds.

 

Lindsay was one of the people who hadn’t had the time nor the energy to bring an umbrella to work, and now she was regretting it, arms clutched protectively over her satchel, filled with important case notes of another incident Michael had been involved in. She was going home to burn them. Her lightweight jacket was only doing so much to keep the rain off her, and as it was, the fabric was already drenched, cold seeping into her bones.

 

She didn’t feel the tap on her shoulder the first time, too distracted by her own disgruntled thoughts about the weather and how she was planning on spending her night home alone.

She did feel the tug on her arm, though. Her reflexes kicked into action and she twisted herself, dropping her satchel to quickly jab the attacker in the throat.

 

Her fingers were met by another hand, the grasp tight, threatening to bruise. She had no use of her hands now, but she still had her feet. She drew her leg back and swung it forward with as much force as she could muster, making contact with something soft, hearing a grunt before her hand was freed. She drew her mini taser from her pocket. Something she carried with her at all times. And fired.

 

There was a scream, familiar to Lindsay, visceral and filled with phlegm. A thump as a body hit the ground. Wet auburn curls showcased a face screwed up in pain.

“Shit… Michael?” Lindsay dropped the taser,still pumping volts of electricity into Michael’s body, and hovered over him, hands fluttering as she thought about what to do. 

The taser switched itself off and Michael groaned, muscles still locked, body shuddering. He took a juddering breath, ignoring the well of blood soaking his shirt from the barbs of the taser, and pulled Lindsay down.

“Run.” Was all he growled.

Run she did. She hoisted her satchel onto her shoulder, papers damp and bag thumping heavily against her hip as she took off down the street. She felt guilt flood her stomach at leaving Michael behind, but he had good reason to find her, he would be fine. No one fucked with Geoff’s boys.

 

She ran, full tilt, till she reached her door - slamming against the doorframe. Pure panic had led her there, rather than police instinct.

A mistake, as she realised her door had been jimmied open, the lock busted and bent, wood splintering from the door.

She remembered her gun at the office, lying in the weapons store, and wished for once that she'd taken it home. She had her flashlight though, a large heavy contraption that served well as a blunt instrument as well as a light source. She drew it from her satchel, bouncing the heavy handle in her hand before pushing the door open, shining the light this way and that into her hallway.

Nothing.

She edged into the house, methodically clearing each room downstairs before shining her flashlight upstairs.

Nothing had been disturbed downstairs, her morning coffee, half drunk and left on the kitchen counter had been tipped down the sink but that was all. If they were burglars then they were remarkably fastidious.

She crept up the stairs, one step at a time, her breathing loud in the silence of her house, only broken by the noise of rain thudding on her roof.

When she reached the top, she noticed, with a trickle of fear down her spine, that her bedroom light was on.

She snuck towards the door, hand resting on the doorknob, flashlight sitting just so in her hand so that it would easily become a weapon if need be. The doorknob turned on it's own accord, startling Lindsay who let out a yelp only to be greeted by sharp sky blue eyes, and a shark like smile.

“Hello Lindsay,” Geoff said, a thong dangling from his fingertips. One of hers. A lacy slinky affair gifted to her by Michael as a joke. “It's lovely to finally meet you.”

 

~

 

She still had her hand on her flashlight. Geoff had calmly and quietly persuaded her to talk, just a chat about a mutual interest in keeping Michael safe. Lindsay’s eyes hadn't left the numerous rings adorning Geoff’s fingers, not when they tapped against each other with small tinny noises that somehow managed to climb above the noise of the rain and scrape on Lindsay’s nerves.

Despite the cold he was dressed in an old wife beater, tucked neatly into ragged jeans. That wasn't his defining feature though, rather the miles of miles of ink across his skin, intricate designs leading the eye across thick shoulders and down wiry arms that promised hidden strength, enough to incapacitate a man, for sure.

 

They’d moved to her lounge, Lindsay warily offering him a cup of coffee which Geoff declined with the grace of a ballerina.

“You and I both know what you’ve been doing for Michael,” He started. Lindsay’s hand flexed on her only weapon. She wasn’t sure if she could take him on in a fight. She ticked down her mental list of escape routes. If worst came to worst, she could always jump out of her kitchen window.

“I think my crew could use someone like you. You take some tremendous risks, doing what you’re doing. All for my little boy. It’s endearing.”

She wanted to spit in his face, throw his abuse back in his face, but didn’t. “No.” She said, tight lipped. “There’s no way I’m joining your crew.”

Geoff spread his hands out, palms up, as if he had nothing to hide. It was almost a sign of giving up. Almost. “If you don’t,” His voice hardened, eyes glinting like ice shards in the warm glow of Lindsay’s living room. “I’ll kill Michael. I’ll send photographs of you destroying  _ precious  _ evidence to the Chief of Police. Then, maybe if I feel nice, I’ll kill you too.”

As he spoke, Lindsay’s gut twisted, her jaw clenching. She had lost. She was backed into a corner. There was no way she could go to her colleagues, she'd be arrested in a second. She had always been ruthless, calculating, had taken down her very own boss in a scandal case that had blown up Los Santos newspapers within an hour of the arrest. A mass laundering ring, her boss at the centre.

She'd arrested him with dick in hand, prostitues scrambling to get away any way they could. She had made a lot of enemies within the force that day.

The idea of working for her best friend's abuser revolted Lindsay, and she tried not to show it, her face carefully blank as she said nodded.

“Fine. I'll do it.”

Geoff’s smile was brilliant, toothy. He flicked his wrist in the direction of Lindsay’s front door.

Michael stood in the open doorway, shoulders sagged, head tilted back. A knife was being held to his throat, a hand clenched tight in his drenched curls, clearly causing him pain. Michael’s breathing was a guttural hiss between teeth.

“Ryan.” Geoff’s voice was loud beneath the rain, commanding.

Michael was walked forward, feet stumbling as he struggled not to push into the blade across his throat. He looked haggard, face bruised and blotchy, his lip swollen and bloody, nose bent at an awkward angle, streaming blood. The man behind him - evidently named Ryan - towered over Michael, thick brown locks swept back into a ponytail. He had a smirk adorning his lips. With a sick jolt, Lindsay realised he was enjoying it, taking joy out of hurting Michael.

“You made a good choice, Lindsay.” Geoff purred. He nodded to Ryan, who let go of Michael, the knife disappearing somewhere on his person. Michael fell to his knees, hunching over, gagging and dripping blood, gasping for air.

“Michael, baby,” Geoff’s tone was warm, but his eyes showed no mercy. “You were going to tell her about her surprise party, weren't you?”

Michael didn't reply, he merely continued to stare at Lindsay’s carpet, dotted with his blood.

“Hmm,” Geoff looked at Ryan, features impassive. “Let's get out of here, big boy.” he glanced at Lindsay, a smug smirk twitching his lips. “Here's your first job, darling. Clean your boyfriend up.”  
He got up from her armchair, leaning into her face. “You get anyone else involved? I'll cut his head off and hang it on your mantlepiece.”


	3. Not What You Think

It’s not often that Barbara hears the wail of sirens outside and is reminded of her past, but when it does happen, it’s severe enough to send her into hysteria.

Only the warm hand of her girlfriend on the small of her back is enough to quell her whimpers, the encompassing scent of gunpowder and that new laundry powder they bought together sending her into a state of calm.

She reaches for her bong on the floor beside their bed, sits up with tears still dotting her cheeks, packs her bong with shaking fingers, lighter hissing to life as she lets the smoke build, taking out the catch and inhaling the smoke with a deep pull, letting her shoulders relax as the THC floods her system.

Lindsay sits up beside her, frowns at the dishevelled state of her partner.

“Babe,” She says quietly, eyes taking in the dark rings around Barbara’s eyes and the gauntness of her cheeks, illuminated by the streetlights outside.

Barbara stiffens, knows that Lindsay’s going to have  _ that  _ talk with her again. About how an upstanding policewoman shouldn’t  _ really  _ be cohorting with a stoner, much less sleeping with her. It makes her gut twist with bitterness. They’ve had this fight a million times before, and it always ends the same way.

But when Lindsay’s fingers brush her cheek, she can’t help but lean into the touch.

“You know we can’t keep doing this.” Lindsay sighs, shifting closer to wrap her arms around her girlfriend’s shoulders.

Barb doesn’t acknowledge the statement, prefers to let the hiss of her bong bubbling fill the silence for her.

“We need to get you clean.” Lindsay presses on, knowing what the reaction will be, knowing where it’ll all end up. Barb flinches out of her embrace, tumbles out of bed to stand above her, lips pressed together in a thin line.

“Just leave me,” She hisses, fingers clamped loosely around the neck of her bong, eyes shining with unshed tears. “If you’re such a great citizen of this  _ shithole,  _ leave me to do what I want. We go over this every two weeks…  _ Fuck _ , Lindsay.” Her voice cracks, and Lindsay’s heart breaks with it.

Lindsay shifts herself so that her legs dangle over the side of the bed, plants her palms firmly on either side of her on the mattress. “You know I can’t leave you,” She states, fingers digging tight into the mattress. “You know I love you.”   
Barbara shakes her head, chin trembling. “You can’t love me that much if you want to me stop being myself.”

Lindsay heaves a sigh, hangs her head, shoulders sagging. She looks at the digital clock with duct tape piecing it together, notices that it’s 3:04 in the morning, and squares her shoulders. Time to get to work.

She stands, and Barb’s face pales, her body hunching it on itself instinctively - a remnant of past abuse, past relationships gone wrong.

Lindsay pulls her tight into a hug, presses a kiss to her temple. Wishes she could do more, but she’s got a job to do.

“Please remember I love you.” She whispers before grabbing her duffelbag and stepping out of their studio apartment, leaving Barbara to stare blankly at the space she had just occupied.

~

The sound of gunfire in Lindsay’s ears always makes her feel alive. She screams over the comm to Gavin that they’re taking heavy fire, that they need Mogar.

They send him in, grenades at the ready, a wicked smile curving over sharp teeth. He’s got his mask on, a snarling bear face. Lindsay has hers on too - a disturbingly cute cat face. Bullets whizz past her as Mogar presses forward, body jolting as bullets strike his bulletproof vest. He pulls one ring of a grenade and lets it fly, then another and another.

Echoing explosions and screams of dying men ring through the seemingly abandoned warehouse, though the gang all know that in fact underneath the creaking floorboards, there’s roughly 32 kilos of coke sitting in wait for them.

A pick up gone wrong, another gang had moved in on their turf. Now it was time to defend it.

Lindsay pulls her snub-nose revolver from a garter strapped to her leg, fires one shot, two shots, three into a body looming over her, face unfamiliar.

Mogar ducks in beside her, the stub of his left arm conveniently hidden underneath a fully working prosthetic. One Geoff insisted Michael get once he lost his hand. Geoff wasn’t going to have no cripple walking around his gang, hell no, he needed everyone to be in top shape.   
And Mogar’s prosthetic  _ was  _ top of the line after all, despite Geoff’s appearances he looked after his crew. The sleek chrome and steel contraption was effortlessly wired together and contained a few hidden compartments, and had the ability to track enemies through infrared radar darts.

Lindsay grins at him, sweeping her hair back from her eyes.

“Getting tired there, big boy?” She coos. Mogar growls, taking out a click lighter.

“Never have, never will.” He slips back out into the fray, the metal of his arm sliding back to reveal a small compartment filled with black granules. He flings his arms around in an arc, the grains spraying outwards in a wide vector. His other hand comes up to click at the lighter and  _ woosh  _ the air goes up in flames, screams and cries of burning men assailing his ears.

Lindsay ducks out beside him, pulling an assault rifle off her back, takes shots into burning bodies that collapsed under her spray of bullets.

Gavin barrels past her as she lowers her gun, long legs kicking up blood as he sprints into the fray, kick flipping himself off an enemy member’s chest, hands going to his neck to pull him to the ground, an echoing  _ crack  _ signalling the end of the man.

“How’s the sting going, Linds!” Gavin calls to Lindsay from the other side of the warehouse, taking a pistol out of his holster and shooting a rival in the head.

Lindsay trains her gun on the sole remaining enemy, Mogar looming behind the woman to grab her wrists and hold them together, his prosthetic hand digging sharp into her fragile skin.

“Good. Now shut up.” She hisses over the comm, eyes darting around to take in the sight of the warehouse. The coke would be undamaged unless the bastards had managed to blow the safe, but she doubts it.

“Hey girlfriend,” She advances on the writhing woman, smiling. “Now you’ve got five seconds to tell me who tipped you off about our little drop off point here, or I let Mogar here deal to you.”

She begins to count the seconds in her head, eyes never leaving the woman’s face as she babbles helplessly about informants and traitors. All shit Lindsay has heard before.

“You better give me some  _ solid  _ information real soon or I’ll be getting all my friends here in on the action.”

She gestures to Gavin, glinting gold knives at the ready, Jack who’s on standby with a baseball bat in hand, rusty nails decorating the gruesome artifact, and to Mogar who’s still riding high on his bloodlust, teeth bared, grenades strapped to his body.

Only one word gets through the mess of snot and blood;  _ Barbara!!!  _

~

Lindsay busts through the door of her apartment with a yell, tumbling forward as the door gives way, drawing her pistols. The empty apartment greets her eyes, the bed looking as though someone had a good tumble in it, sheets strewn across the floor.

She ignores the sting in her shoulder from bashing at the door, strides around the small studio unit, hisses through her teeth when she finds no sign of Barbara.

“Where the fuck are you!” She screams to the roof, body collapsing in a slow fold so that by the time she hits the floor tears are already dripping to their death on the floorboards.

She sits, until her legs go numb, sits and sobs to herself, heart constricting painfully in her chest. She only notices that she can’t feel her legs when she hears the broken latch on the door click.

“Woah, Linds.” Michael’s voice is rough, patchy after all the screaming over gunshots. “What the fuck?”

She looks up with tears staining her cheeks, hates, no, loathes to death that she looks so helpless, but she can’t hide the tremble of her chin when she looks at her best friend.

“She’s gone, Michael. She betrayed me.”

He crouches next to her, tucks her into a reassuring hug, his chin resting on her hair. “Nah, Barb’s too much of a pothead to betray you.” He murmurs fondly, eyes taking in the shattered windows fronting onto the balcony. Lindsay scowls, but feels the tears well up again.

“I’m so  _ stupid _ .” She hisses.

“Hey,” He stands slowly, eyes narrowed. “did  _ you  _ break these windows?”

Lindsay looks up at him, the angry redness of her cheeks fading as her face pales. “No…” She breathes. She pushes herself up, legs wobbly from lack of blood circulation, and stumbles to the windows. Ignores the way her skin itches when she touches her fingers to the broken glass. There’s a piece of cloth stuck there, shredded and ripped, fluttering in the wind next to the open sliding door.

Lindsay sucks in a harsh breath, eyes widening. “They’ve taken her. They fucking  _ took _ her!” Her hand claws into a fist and she throws a sloppy punch at the spiderwebbed glass, feeling a hint of satisfaction as her skin splits under the harsh treatment, blood welling around shards of glass embedded into her hand. The glass itself explodes outwards under the blow, the cloth whipping free until Michael grabs it, turns concerned eyes towards Lindsay.

“We’re getting her back, Michael.” She hisses, cradling her bleeding hand to her chest. “fuck, if it’s the last thing I do, I’m getting her back.”


	4. I'll Do Anything

It’s dark, but a fabricated darkness. The curtains are pulled tight over the windows, blocking the sun’s rays. A fan runs somewhere in the room, the distant humming setting Barbara’s nerves on edge.

She tries to look closer at her surroundings, but the gas mask strapped to her head, and the bong attached to it, being lit up every few minutes so she’s breathing in enough weed smoke to keep her eyes foggy, and her heart climbing in her throat, makes it difficult.

She can feel the rough rope around her wrists, her ankles, twining up her legs and holding them open in a painfully submissive position. Her head lolls to the side, eyes trying to focus on the hand that props her chin up, the edge of the palm rough against her throat. Her eyes are turned to the ceiling, again, and she whimpers, vocal chords worn from hours of screaming through smoke.

“What do you want?” She croaks, eyelids heavy. She’s slipping into the abyss again, drug induced sleep, so heavy and deep that she can’t tell how much time passes between her conscious hours. Time blurs together in a whirl of pain and nausea, lungs burning to charcoal from the acrid smoke.

“We just want to know who your girlfriend is.” The voice, so calm and smooth, has been talking at her for hours, never relenting, always a smooth monotone.

“Who?” Barbara echoes, eyes slipping closed.

Away, again.

~

“C’mon!” Lindsay’s tugging her hand, a brilliant smile lighting her face. Barb has never seen her this happy. “We’re gonna be late.”

Barbara looks around. Sunlight, harsh yellow and sharpening the glare of metal cuts across her eyes. The edges of her vision are clouded, shrouding her sight with a silver veil, wisps of smoke curling out and around, reaching for more space. They soften the world around her.

She wants to bat them away, feels like they’re bad signs of terrible happenings, but Lindsay’s eyes meet hers and she forgets, for a moment, how to breathe.

“Late for what?” She says dimly, her fingers clinging tightly to her friend’s.

“The show, idiot.” Lindsay pulls her forward, into the light of fireworks. It’s dark around the bursts of green, red, and white. There’s a small picnic blanket set up on a hill overlooking the shore. People mill around on the beach while a barge full of fireworks lights up. They sit in unison, a bottle of wine and two glasses between them.

“Isn’t it pretty?” Lindsay murmurs, her fingers stroking across Barbara’s. It’s reminiscent of the times Lindsay strokes her back to calm her down from a panic attack, and Barbara relaxes, letting her eyes close for a moment.

“Yeah, you are.” She jokes, cracking an eye open only to see Lindsay appraising her, eyes soft and smile small.

“Barb?” She whispers as the crack of a firework explodes overhead. A searing pain bursts through Barbara’s body and she tries not to wince, tries not to let the beauty of the scene fade.

“One day I’m gonna marry you.”

~

She’s back again, the mask removed. She wakes gasping down stale, still air, stirred up by the fan. It’s muggy, humid. Barb’s hair sticks to her neck, her back aching from being in the same position for hours, maybe days.

“It’s time for food.” The same voice sounds again, and she raises her head to look at her captor.

Long brunette hair swept back into a messy ponytail catches her attention first. The way a lock of hair hangs just so past his ear frames his face, a round, scruffy face follows, eyes unreadable as they appraise her.

He looks like he could be warm, friendly, but the way his eyes drag across her body, and the thick rings on his fingers suggest otherwise.

“Here.” He holds out a plate. It’s loaded with fried rice. Barbara eyes the slimy looking food with distaste, but she’s got no option.   
“How will I eat all tied up?” She snarks, eyebrows furrowing as she tries not to let the trepidation get to her.  _ Where is Lindsay? _ She wants to scream.  _ What do you want with her? _

The man tsks under his breath, nodding to himself. Barbara flinches as a set of thin fingers drag across her wrists, working at the knots. There’s someone else here. The ropes fall away from her wrists and she tries to sit up, weakly groaning as the blood returns to her limbs. Her legs are still tied up, but she notices when a pillow is propped behind her back, holding her upright. The new position makes her aware of how weak she really is, arms like jelly, and body shaking at the sudden use of her muscles. There’s a pitiful pressure on her bladder, and she shifts in place, raising an eyebrow at the man.

“You can eat. And shit, for yourself.” He says, placing the plate in her lap. “But I’ll get Suze to watch you in the bathroom.”

“Suze?” Barbara nearly buries her face in the food when she feels the warmth in her lap, and the scent drifting towards her nose. Despite appearances, it smells like heaven, her mouth salivating at the prospect of food.

“My wife.” The man watches her as she wolfs down her food, barely chewing before swallowing. “You’re going to give yourself a stomachache.” He glances at his companion, gesturing with a small nod for him to leave.   
Barbara catches a glimpse of a shroud of brown curly hair either side of sharp cheekbones before the first man is in her face again. His rings shine with dull light, his hand coming up to grab her upper arm tightly.

“Tell us about Lindsay.” He urges, calm pretence suddenly gone. There’s a wild look in his eye, a desperate longing, and Barbara flinches away from it, food slipping onto the bed.

“What about her?” She hisses, ripping her arm away from him. Her legs are still tied up but she still tries to shift away from him. She gets a hint of his cologne, it’s thick and musky, reminding her of deep forest hikes and the smell of the earth after it rains.

“Where is she?” The man leans back, seeming somewhat disappointed at her reaction. He takes out a pistol from his belt, tapping the barrel in his palm before flicking the safety off and aiming it directly at Barbara’s head. “Tell me right now, or I kill you.”

Barbara feels a rush of shock flood through her before she bursts into wailing, thrashing herself around the bed like a wild cat.

In the surrounding noise of her meltdown, a body falls through the bedroom door, blood seeping through matted thick hair, sharp cheekbones and tan skin now deathly pale. The man curses, leaps forward and pistol whips Barbara into silence. He whips around, pulls his friend into the bedroom with them and slams the door shut. He drops his pistol,checks his friend’s vitals, fingers pressed hard against the pulse point in the throat. The lights go out, plunging the room into shadows, the only light source a glimmer from a gap in the curtains.

“Danny? Shit, Dan. C’mon man.” He mutters, fingers going to the pulse the in wrist, ear hovering over Dan’s gaping mouth. “Fuck!” The man shoves himself away from Dan’s corpse, heavy ringed finger covering his mouth, tears starting to build. “Suzy!” He cries as a gunshot rings out in the silence. He hovers for a moment, uncertain if he wants to face death, before he scrambles for his mobile, punching in the number for homebase.

“Barry!” He screams into the phone. “They’re dead! Fuck, they’re just  _ dead _ !” He cries, hands shaking, slumping against the wall as his legs no longer support him.

He sees the door open, a remarkably small shadow stepping through the door. He tries to stand, fails, feet skittering on the worn floorboards. He sees where his gun lies, feels his heart sink as the shadow kicks it to the side, traditional action movie style.

“Please…” He whimpers, sinking back against the wall as the shadow advances. “P-Please don’t kill me.”

The shadow leans down, an admirable feat for one of such short stature, and the man catches a glimpse of serrated metal through the dull light.

“Sorry, not sorry.” It whispers with gleaming teeth before the man screams, a wet sound followed by gurgling the only noise that pierces the silence.

The shadow turns to Barbara’s unconscious form, takes in the sight of pale thin arms, blood matting the hair on her scalp, eyelids bruised. It curses, hurries to the lights and turns them on, waking Barbara, who in turn, takes one look at her saviour, and screams.

~

“ _Jesus_ , always with the blood and guts with you, Lil’ J.” Michael’s rough voice reprimands his partner as he surveys the apartment. One female with a bullet to the head, two men with severe lacerations and guts strewn over every conceivable surface, and one man with blood spattered across his body, standing proudly amidst his carnage.

“Lindsay’s not gonna be happy you killed them. She wanted to do that herself.” He tsks, kicking aside a wayward hand on the floorboards. Lil J shrugs it off, still looking like a cat who got the cream. He steps up to Michael with a small chuckle and claps him on the shoulder.

“Look it was the only way I could guarantee her survival. He was just about to shoot her! You can’t tell me I didn’t do the right thing.”

Both turn to stare at the shaking mess of a woman between them, eyes wild and fearful.

“You didn’t do the right thing, Jeremy.” Michael replies flatly, moving out from under Lil J’s hand and holding out a hand to the woman.

“Here... We won’t hurt you.” He says, lip curling as Barbara flinches away shaking her head. He growls under his breath, only serving to make Barbara shrink even further into the floorboards.

“Maybe we should call Lindsay in.” Lil J remarks, wiping his hand on his blood soaked jeans.

Michael shakes his head, auburn curls swaying with the motion. “She doesn’t like seeing you in action, or after the action rather. We just need to get Barb outta here so Matt can do his thing.”

Lil J hums his reply, lifting his gaze to the ceiling in consideration. “Lindsay said not to touch her.”

Michael grunts, hoisting a duffel bag of explosives over his shoulders. “And?”

“She never said we can’t drop her.”

Michael gives him a look, eyebrows furrowing. “What are you thinking, Jeremy?” His voice warns against foolishness but Jeremy is already at work, cutting strips of sheets up.

~

Barbara cries out in pain as she slams into the pavement in front of a dank tumbledown set of apartments. Heads peer out of the fifth story balcony.

“Sorry!” Jeremy yells down, watching as Lindsay rushes forward with a snarl on her lips at their carelessness. Matt follows behind her, swaggering with a heavy bag of chemicals slung over his shoulder.

“You’re gonna be.” She yells back, tucking Barbara into a protective hug, brushing sweat slicked hair back from feverish skin.

Muffled swearing follows her statement, before Matt pushes his way into the building, bag sloshing.

Barbara looks up at Lindsay with bleary eyes, her mouth forming a small ‘o’ before her eyes pop open, a shriek leaving her lips as she wrenches herself from Lindsay’s grip.

Lindsay doesn’t make a sound, watches as her girlfriend shrinks away from her with forlorn eyes.

“Who are you?!” Barbara spits out, arms clutched protectively over her chest.

“I’m me…” Lindsay says quietly.

“No! No!!!” Barbara’s voice takes on a shrill quality and Lindsay knows in her heart that a panic attack is coming on. “If you were  _ you  _ I wouldn’t have been fucking kidnapped!” Barbara pushes herself off of the dirty pavement, eyes wide. “ _ Kidnapped! _ ” She screams.

Lindsay moves forward and Barbara moves a step back, like a wild animal ready to run.

“Listen,” Lindsay holds her hands out, palms up. “I’m still me, baby.” She gestures to the dank building, Michael and Jeremy watching from the front entrance.” _ This…  _ Is just a different part of me.” 

“I thought I knew you.” Barbara says softly, her chin trembling. “What is this? A sick game to you?! Let your girlfriend get kidnapped so you can rescue her, huh?!”

Lindsay curses, runs a hand through her hair in exasperation. Nods to Michael when he tilts his head at the wailing sirens in the distance.

“Please, let me take you home, and I’ll explain everything.” She holds out her hand, and it seems like an age before Barbara takes her hand. The relief Lindsay feels is overwhelmed with love for this fragile girl who got pulled into the wrong life in front of her. She wants to pull Barbara close, never let her go again, but she knows in her gut the trust Barbara placed in her will never be the same again.


End file.
